


Use My Life Like A Weapon

by crookedfingers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Dysfunction, Sexual Tension, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers/pseuds/crookedfingers
Summary: In the year between Venice and London, Jesse regains his trust in Gabriel Reyes—for better or worse.(written for themcreyes4charityevent.)





	Use My Life Like A Weapon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkforetold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/gifts).



> You can read more details about the mcreyes4charity event here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mcreyes4charity) or [tumblr](https://mcreyes4charity.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> My thanks to [darkforetold](https://twitter.com/darkforetold) for enabling this story to be written!

“You’re going to be questioned, too, you know,” Morrison tells him, when they’re alone after Commander Reyes has been taken out of the holding room. “Not just by me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, tonelessly. They’re all going to be answering for what Reyes did for a long time to come. Morrison alone had been bad enough, and Jesse knows he’s just the first of many.  
  
Morrison looks at him for a moment. Then he asks, “Do you know what you’re going to say?”  
  
He wants to light a cigar, just to have something to do with his hands. He shrugs. “You heard what I had to say. Are you askin’ if my story is gonna change?”  
  
What he means is: _Do you want it to change?_  
  
“I’m asking,” Morrison says, “if you know what _his_ story is going to be.”  
  
He doesn’t answer, but Morrison nods like he has. He turns and walks to the door. Then he pauses and says, with his back to Jesse, “He’s going to be in room 122. The door will open for you. Wait ten minutes, first.”  
  
And then, with a backward glance and something softer in his eyes: “Gerard will be glad to see you.”  
  
  
The interrogation is already underway when Jesse gets to the room. There aren’t any other observers: just Commander Reyes on other side of the glass, surrounded by Strike Commander Morrison, Captain Amari, and Gerard Lacroix. Jesse activates the audio and puts himself at the far right edge of the window, chewing an unlit cigar.  
  
It’s a five-hour ordeal, and Reyes keeps his head down through most of it. Jesse’s never seen him so subdued. Reyes didn’t expect this, and Jesse thinks, almost gleefully, _Surprises ain’t so fun, are they?_  
  
Morrison gets called away, eventually, and takes Amari with him. They leave Reyes behind with Gerard.  
  
Jesse knows he has to be far away from the interrogation room before Reyes leaves it, so he switches off the audio connection and walks toward the door. From the corner of his eye, he notices Gerard get up.  
  
Then Reyes stands so suddenly that Jesse stops short.  
  
Reyes looks directly at the glass. Their eyes don’t connect—Reyes looks to his right, at the spot where he’d been standing through most of the interrogation—and then Reyes’s gaze cuts back to Gerard. He strides forward, and Jesse’s body tenses up as he thinks, for a horrifying split-second, that Reyes is going to throw a punch into Gerard.  
  
Then Reyes has his arms around Gerard’s back, pulling their bodies together, his white-knuckled fingers making furrows in Gerard’s suit jacket. Jesse can’t see Gerard’s face, but Reyes’s is…  
  
Sometimes relief looks exactly the same as agony. Gabriel is grey around the eyes, his mouth and jaw locked. His nose flares as he takes heavy breaths. He just holds onto Gerard, both of them swaying there in the middle of the room.  
  
He’s never seen Reyes look like that, touch someone like that. Desperate like that.  
  
Jesse drops his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. This is private. This isn’t like watching the interrogation.  
  
He decides, as he opens the door, that Reyes can have one more chance.

 

*

  
  
He gets a text from an unknown number six days later: _You ready to work tomorrow?_  
  
There’s only one person it could be from, really.  
  
He says: _Yeah_.  
  
They meet at 22:30 in a noisy bar, where Reyes hands him an actual fucking manila envelope and sips a scotch as he reads the dossier tucked inside.  
  
“Don’t say anything,” Gabriel says. “Just give me 'yes' or 'no.'”  
  
He nods, once.  
  
Reyes looks pleased. “You’ll have to do this alone. I’m trusting you to handle it. Can you?”  
  
“Yes,” he says, and he’s supposed to still be pissed at Reyes, or at least playing at it, but his stomach warms to hear it said. Trust. He’s the one here—the only one here—because Reyes trusts him.  
  
“You understand that you can’t talk about this with anyone, ever.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Reyes nods. Then he asks, “Do you want a drink?”  
  
Reyes won’t get him anything stronger than beer; he’ll need a clear head in the morning. The manila envelope rests on the floor between his feet while they drink, and they don’t talk about it. They talk about other things they’re not supposed to, instead. He ends up telling Reyes all the questions he’s been asked during the investigation so far, and even tells the truth about some of the answers he’d given. Reyes doesn’t volunteer anything about what it’s been like for him.  
  
“You’re not worried?” Jesse asks, eventually, when he’s three drinks bolder.  
  
“About the investigation?” Gabriel slides his glass a centimeter back and forth across the table. “I’m not worried. Now things are easier.”  
  
“Yeah?” he drawls, with undisguised skepticism. “How’s that?”  
  
Gabriel shrugs. “Our role hasn’t changed. There are things that need to be done, and now we can do them without worrying about who’s going to let us. We don’t need to give anyone excuses or explanations; we don’t have to compromise. We can just do our fucking jobs the way we’re meant to, on our own terms. We’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t, so I’d rather… do.”  
  
“Huh,” he says. He picks up his bottle and swishes it, checking its fullness, then throws back the last couple mouthfuls. He sets it down and pushes it away. “Well. There’s a few things I’d rather do, as long as we’re breakin’ the rules.”  
  
He means it to be an offhand joke, but when he glances over Reyes is looking back at him, and a shock of realization and horror goes through Jesse’s whole body as he recognizes that Reyes knows, _he knows_.  
  
“If you’re not with me,” Reyes says, calmly, “I need to know right now.”  
  
Jesse swallows. “Naw, no, I was—I’m with you.”  
  
Reyes accepts the answer with another nod. “You’ve got an early flight. You can break more rules some other time.”  
  
“Sure,” Jesse says, unsticking his tongue. “Yeah.”  
  
Reyes tucks the envelope under his arm when they step outside, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He just stands there, facing the street. Jesse hangs back for a moment, preparing a cigar, before he steps abreast of Reyes. He wonders if Reyes is going to offer him a ride back to base.

Reyes says, “Do you remember everything you need?”  
  
He nods. “Yeah.” He’s got a good memory for names, places, dates; only needs to see them once to remember. Reyes knows that.  
  
Suddenly, the envelope is right under his face, an inch from his cigar. Jesse cocks his head back, getting out of the way, but Reyes moves the envelope closer again. Jesse thinks, _Oh_. He leans in, touching the cigar to the envelope, and draws air into his mouth.  
  
It takes a few seconds for the paper to really catch. Jesse glances around as the fire intensifies, creeping along the envelope. It’s conspicuous. But no one is even looking at them.  
  
The flame gets closer to Reyes’s hand, eating its way toward his fingers. He holds it close, shielding it with his body. He's going to burn himself, the fucking show off.  
  
Without letting himself think about what he’s doing, Jesse plucks the cigar from his lips and puffs out a mouthful of smoke. Then he leans forward and blows right across Reyes’s fingertips. The fire goes out.  
  
“What was that for?” Reyes asks, half smiling, eyebrow up.  
  
“For luck,” he says, and mimes throwing dice.  
  
“Ha.” Reyes drops the fragment of paper and ash onto the pavement and puts his foot over it. “I hope you’re not counting on luck to get this done.”  
  
Jesse replaces his cigar and snorts. “Naw, I don’t need the luck, but _you_ do.”  
  
For some reason that gets a laugh out of Reyes, a smug little self-satisfied noise. “Luck is the last thing I’m relying on.”

 

*  
  
  
The Blackwatch investigation continues, and so do the missions. Reyes meets him at the landing strip when he returns from the first operation and asks him a dozen questions—and a few hours later he’s sitting in front of a panel and answering questions about the commanders, and Blackwatch, and things he’s never even heard of that the panel is sure he must know about. Three weeks later, Reyes has another dossier for him.  
  
It’s goddamn hard. But the kind of shit Reyes has him doing—well, Reyes wasn’t wrong: it needs to get done. It makes him feel a little queasy to know that nobody would be doing anything about it, if it weren’t for Reyes.  
  
He feels good about the missions—and he feels good about the times between them, when Reyes takes him out to bars, or private target ranges, or running tracks to ask him for the details. And sometimes he keeps talking about things other than the missions, and Reyes listens to him, and laughs, and seems content to be there. Reyes isn’t his commander; they’re… collaborators.  
  
The suspension turns out to be about the best thing to happen to Reyes since Jesse’s known him. Some kind of weight falls away from him. There’s less stiffness in his shoulders; some of the darkness fades from under his eyes. Jesse thought Reyes was lying about not being worried, but there’s unexpected honesty to his laughter and confidence. He thinks things are going his way.  
  
A year passes like that. Then they hear about Null Sector terrorizing London. Jesse starts packing even before Reyes calls, and Reyes sees him all the way to the plane in person, where he hands over a selection of equipment.  
  
“This one is going to be different,” he explains, as Jesse studies one of the devices. He knows it’s not a personal gesture, but Jesse gets a tight, pleased feeling in his stomach, like someone’s brought him a packed lunch. “I’m going to keep a channel open with you. Keep those fly cams on if things get hot. Morrison and Amari need to see what’s going on, and you need to show them.”  
  
He wants to ask what this means for the investigation, but he just winks and says, “I’ll put on a good show.”  
  
London is the most hostile mission he’s had during the last year, but he’s better at fighting than sneaking around, and he’s got Reyes watching his six through the fly cams. He’s not surprised when Reyes reports that the strike commander is sending a team.  
  
He catches a ride back with them—and gets debriefed with them.  
  
It’s a long debrief.  
  
When it’s finally done, Morrison, who’d been personally waiting for them on the tarmac, says “Gabriel, a word, please,” and holds the door open, and Reyes goes without a backward glance. Jesse knows better than to think that’ll be the end of it, but there’s nothing he can do until someone else decides what’ll happen next.  
  
So he goes to his quarters for a nap.  
  
When he wakes up again, there’s a message from Reyes. He wants his cameras back. It’s 21:00, but he’s all jet-lagged to fuck, so what the fuck ever.  
  
Reyes opens the door for him when he gets there. He’s out of his body armor, down to just a hoodie with a few teeth of the zipper open at the top, and Jesse realizes that he’s not wearing a shirt.  
  
He offers the gear right away, but Reyes steps aside to let him in and closes the door before he takes it. He sets it aside on a clutterless antique writing desk. Then, to Jesse’s complete surprise, Reyes walks to the kitchen and says, “You like champagne, don’t you?”  
  
He does like champagne. He doesn’t have it often.  
  
“Guess so.”  
  
“Take your boots off if you want any, then.”  
  
Jesse sets his boots near the door. There’s a distinctive _pop_ , and Reyes says, “Whoops.” Jesse straightens and sees Reyes holding a bottle. He didn’t cover the top of it with a towel, and froth spills down the neck of the bottle and runs over his hand. Reyes holds the bottle over the sink with one hand and licks foam from the other. Jesse shifts on his feet.  
  
“I’m not supposed to have this,” Reyes says, filling two champagne flutes. “But it was going to go to waste otherwise. Come here.”  
  
Reyes hands him one of the flutes. The smell of the champagne reaches out to him like the memory of biting into cold fruit on a hot day. Reyes says, “To Blackwatch,” and _tinks_ their glasses lightly together, grinning, and he looks so mellow and sincere that Jesse, who knows that he’s being buttered up, grins back at him.  
  
The champagne is the best he’s ever had.  
  
They drain the first flutes, and Reyes refills them. He clears his throat.  
  
“I wanted to tell you what a good job you did.”  
  
“Oh.” Jesse jerks his eyes away. “Well. Dealt with worse than that before.”  
  
Reyes snorts, his mouth tilting up. “Sure. But it was still good work. You helped us save lives. We should celebrate that.”  
  
“What, now?” He looks Reyes up and down, frowning. “Don’t look like you’re dressed to go nowhere.”  
  
“I can change,” Reyes says, simply. “Tonight’s our window of opportunity. By tomorrow everyone is going to start demanding our reasons for not leaving civilians to die, and we’re going to be a lot busier.”  
  
A feeling adjacent to caution winds around Jesse’s spine and reaches into his ribcage. He scents danger, and it makes his heart beat faster. “I don’t mind havin’ a night in.”  
  
“Yeah? Doing what?”  
  
“Dunno. You’re the one with all the plans, Gabriel.”  
  
Reyes’s eyebrows go up a little. “Oh, I’m ‘Gabriel’ again?”  
  
Jesse makes himself keep his head up, his gaze direct. “Well, I’m in your room, and you ain’t my commander right now. Figure that puts us on a first-name basis.”  
  
He watches Reyes’s mouth: if he’s angry, that’s where it shows first. But Reyes just laughs. “Alright. But you really want to leave the plan up to me? This might be your last chance to break those rules you wanted to.”  
  
Of course Reyes won’t put it out there, won’t say it. Jesse sets his champagne flute aside and lifts his chin. The window of opportunity.  
  
“Okay. Are we doin’ this, or what?”  
  
And Reyes has the goddamn gall to say, “Are we doing what?”  
  
Jesse moves forward. He goes slow, but he doesn’t hesitate. Reyes has plenty of time to react, but he doesn’t. Jesse gets right into his space, more than close enough to touch. And he does. He puts his hand on Reyes’s waist. Then he says, “This,” and leans in to press his lips against the side of Reyes’s neck. He feels Reyes’s dense body move under his hand, stomach pulling tight.  
  
They act together without speaking. Jesse grips a fistful of Gabriel’s hoodie, then shoves his hand beneath it to touch skin. The bold line of hair down Reyes's stomach is surprisingly soft. He already knows what Reyes looks like naked, privacy between operatives being what it is, but this is a deliberate knowing, and it’s better for that.  
  
Reyes grabs him by the back of the neck—doesn’t pry him off, just holds him there. He reaches up to open the front of Reyes’s hoodie and bares him from collarbone to hip.  
  
He gets Reyes’s cock out. Reyes parts his uniform to do the same, and Jesse pushes forward, pushes them right together, and tucks his head down to look.  
  
More than ten years of waiting for this. For this.  
  
He fits a hand around both of them and ruts his hips. When it he imagined this, it was frantic and hard. This is measured, deliberate. Reyes keeps kneading at the back of his neck; his other hand simply rests at Jesse’s hip.  
  
He wants to be kissed, but he doesn’t ask for it.  
  
He gets close sooner than he’d like to, and he starts to pull back to stop himself, but Reyes holds him and says, “Just do it.”  
  
So he does.  
  
He comes against Reyes, on Reyes. On his cock. Jesse keeps jerking him, rubbing his own come onto Reyes’s big goddamn dick. When he glances up, he sees that Reyes’s eyes are shut.  
  
“I can—I’ll blow you,” he says, a declaration more than an offer.  
  
Reyes’s eyelids lift. “I’m not asking you to.”  
  
“I want to,” he says, feeling raw. He thinks, _please_.  
  
Reyes pauses, then just gives him a nod, and down he goes to his knees right there in the kitchen, next to the dishwasher. He gets Reyes’s cock into his mouth. No preamble. No little tricks with his tongue. He just swallows it and tries not to gag. Reyes holds still and lets him do it, hand resting undemandingly on the top of his head until Jesse reaches up to cover it, scrunching it between his own fingers until he’s made Reyes’s hand into a fist. He understands, and threads his fingers down to the base of Jesse’s skull, and grabs the hair there.  
  
That helps, for some reason. Relaxes him enough to take Reyes’s cock more easily.  
  
He stays down there for… awhile. Long enough that Reyes finally starts moving his hips in tiny shoves. Long enough that his jaw starts to hurt, which hasn’t happened since… for a pretty long time. Long enough that he gets sloppy, and catches Reyes with his teeth, hard, as he backs up for a gulp of air.  
  
He pulls off completely, coughing, and is already apologizing in a run-on babble when he looks up and sees that Reyes… isn’t with him. His eyes are open, but he’s not looking at Jesse. Not looking at anything. His brow is drawn, and his lips are tight, and he’s not there.  
  
Jesse rocks back, but Reyes is still holding his hair tight, and he winces. “Reyes?” he says. “Boss?”  
  
Reyes’s eyes move from side to side, like he’s reading.  
  
Jesse slaps at his thigh. “Gabriel? Gabriel. Commander Reyes!”  
  
Reyes’s head jerks. He says, “What?”  
  
Their eyes meet, and Reyes’s face goes dark, as though from a blush. For a moment he doesn’t seem to know what to do: Jesse sees in his face, for the first time ever, the expression of a man who’s lost. Then he says, “You can stop.”  
  
Jesse wipes thick spit from his chin. “Is it me, or is—” He comes dangerously close to asking _is there something wrong with you?_  
  
Reyes actually flinches. Just a little motion of his hands. But it’s there. He doesn’t answer the question. He just says, “Get up.”  
  
Then Jesse’s on his feet with his clothes all put together, not knowing how any of the intermediary steps happened, and Reyes is in the bathroom with the door shut. The soundproofing is so good that Jesse can’t tell if he’s running a shower, or jerking off over the toilet, or just standing there. Did Reyes ask him to leave? Must not have. He’d remember if he’d been given an order.  
  
He stays. He stands in Reyes’s kitchen, then sits on Reyes’s couch, and doesn’t do anything in particular until the bathroom door opens some time later and Reyes comes out. His face looks like it’s just been wet. Jesse stands up, and they stare at one another. Everything from the past year has been undone: Reyes is dark around the eyes now, tense.  
  
“You… okay?” he asks, inadequately.  
  
“I’m fine.” Reyes walks to the writing desk and opens the main drawer. He rifles through it, his back to Jesse. “We need to talk about how this is going to affect Blackwatch’s suspension.”  
  
At first Jesse thinks he means the… the blowjob, the whatever the fuck just happened between them, and his throat goes tight. Then Reyes turns around with a stack of papers in his hands, and he realizes that “ _this_ ” is their intervention against Null Sector. Okay; so they’re not going to talk about the other thing. His stomach settles, leaden.  
  
Reyes comes toward him and sits on the couch. Jesse doesn’t move. He should do… something, but he can’t. After a moment, Reyes lifts his head to stare at him.  
  
“You can go,” Reyes says, “or you can stay. We have work to do. Are you going to help?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, and inhales. “Yeah.”  
  
And he sits, and he stays.

**Author's Note:**

> And I see my heart like a surgeon  
> Can I [use my life like a weapon?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9B_wGufSnI)


End file.
